Emily Post

I’ve seen him driving, taking a shower, answering emails, but I’ve never seen him like this. His body perched like a bird on the far edge of the bed. Back when we had first started seeing each other I had noticed that he would always end up on that side. And I would be here with the New Yorkers and Emily Post on the bedside table. At first I thought it was a coincidence, then it finally dawned on me, I was on his wife’s side. Maybe it had more to do with him still feeling attached to that side of the bed. But he hasn’t slept with his wife in years. She sleeps in Sarah’s room, and she’s off at Barnard. So technically isn’t the whole bed his? Why still cling to that one side? Maybe he had originally wanted to create more of a distance from her? But after all of this time, why hasn’t he moved to the center? And why are these New Yorkers still here? And who the hell reads Emily Post anymore? Now I can’t sleep. All I can think is that I want to wake him and ask him to move closer to me. But somehow I know that I can’t. He’s not my husband. And I’m not his wife. Even though I’m sleeping on his wife’s pillow.

Ann Pedone graduated from Bard College in 1992 with a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature. She has a Master’s Degree in Chinese Language and Literature from UC Berkeley. Ann has recently had work published in Adelaide, Birmingham Arts Journal, as well as The Comstock Review. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her three children.

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